Vindicator
by Jade Munro
Summary: The unlife of a 120-something-year-old bleach blond vampire with a government implanted chip in his brain isn't easy, you know.
1. Default Chapter

****

Vindicator: Prologue

Don't you hate it, when you get a song stuck in your head that you can't stand? It frustrates the hell out of me. Normally when that happened I'd go out and grab something to eat, just to get my mind off it. I did it for over one hundred and twenty years, and it never failed. Guaranteed shit song cure.

It's the little things like that you take for granted.

Now I've got some boy band tune pounding around my skull, and I'd almost prefer to try and bite someone for the pain of it. It'd feel better than this. Bunch of sodding wankers is what they are, those boy bands.

Bloody wonderful. Nothing good on the box, and that crap on practically every radio station. I should stake that idiot Harmony for burning up my records. I could really do with some Pistols right now.

It's gonna be sundown soon, at least. Not that it matters much, I get around during the day all the time, but you can't really do anything fun while you're hiding from something that's everywhere. The thrill of running out in daylight's gone the first time you burst into flames.

I've got nothing to do a fair bit these days. So I always end up thinking. Not your standard light thinking, it's, you know, that deep stuff. The 'how did I end up where I am?' type.

This fucking type.

I hate it when I'm in this sort of mood. It reminds me of the little nonce I was before I met Dru. The 'poet'. The 'good man'. The poor sod that got trampled on every day of his worthless life.

Funny how much death has done to make me feel alive.

Yeah, right bit hysterical how alive I am. I'm sitting in an old crypt, no good telly, no decent radio…and once I'm out, I won't be able to do a bloody thing. Vampires live for the hunt, and I can't do it. Well, I can't hunt to kill, anyway. I've gotta settle on another form of prey.

And at least I still get to go after my enemy while I'm at it. And if I catch her, the prize for it'll be so much sweeter than a simple kill.


	2. Vindicator - Fine Line

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Vindicator: Fine Line

Spoilers: Lots for S5 Buffy.

Timeline: Set just after 'Crush', though before, and later during, the business in 'I Was Made to Love You'.

Notes: I'm ignoring that weird business about Spike asking for a Buffy-bot. This is also the last chapter of the story that will be told only from his POV.

***

"Watch where you're going, jackass."

Normally, I'd kill someone who spoke to me like that. And this old poof just bumped into _me_. Two strikes against him. If I had my way, the third would be my teeth in his throat. But no. I've gotta settle with something a lot less.

"Piss off, old man."

That gets him. I'm surprised he didn't snap a hip with how fast he turned to look at me.

"What'd you just say? Who the hell do you think you're talking to, huh?"

I slip into vamp face before I ask, "Who do you think _you're _talking to, mate?"

I was just grinning like an idiot, but…well he doesn't react. I mean, I know I'm in the light and all, so he should be able to see me. But all the old codger is doing is standing there, squinting at me. Wonderful. Bloody fantastic.

It's just typical, really. That the old bastard pretty much can't see.

"You listen here! I didn't work my whole life to be spoken to like that. Start showing some respect."

I've had it. He's poking me in the chest with his little cane, now. Maybe I can't kill him, but…

"You little cunt! Get back here and I'll shove the pieces up your ass! That was made out of oak, you little shit!"

He's still yelling at me while I head down the street. I don't give him as much as another glance.

For some reason I'm feeling pretty hungry now. Can't imagine why. Might as well head on over to the Bronze.

***

Have to say I hate what they've done with the place. I was never much of a fan of the 80's, and this is a bit too close to the decade that graced and us with Rock the Casbah and Bananarama.

But, in the midst of all the shocking neon, there's a major 70's throwback. She looks right out of Charlie's Angels, with her new fondness for hoop earrings and wavy hair.

I can't stop myself from staring at her as she sways to the music. Those curves…

Christ I'm hungry.

"Shouldn't you have left town?"

Oh, this is just capping off a perfect day. The last thing I need is for this little poncy friend of hers to start giving me cheek.

"You might want to think about that yourself. This place's already got enough shitless lay abouts. You're not exactly making much of a contribution."

"Oh, what? And you are? Sorry, but a neutered vampire is pretty much just taking up space."

I need to grin. "Yeah. We all know about which space Angel took up."

I've got to hand it to him. Piss ant that he is, the boys really got himself a good right arm.

"I don't wanna see you anywhere near here, you got it? Get out, and don't come back."

I get up, and brush myself off. Don't lay a hand on my jaw, though. Might as well make it seem like it didn't hurt.

"I'll go where I want. You're not gonna stop me."

Next, I feel a hand around my neck. Her hand.

"Maybe. Or maybe you won't be that lucky. Because next time you show up here, _I'll _be the one kicking your ass. Stay the hell away from us, Spike."

With a really low, long growl, I shrug away from her. And, yeah. Just what I fucking need. Basically everyone in this shit heap is staring at us. I wanna kill the whole goddamn lot of them. Sodding humans.

I dredge up all the big bad in me as I say, "You're really pushing it, Summers. You should know that there's a fine line between love and hate. Don't make me cross over to your little view."

"Or you'll do what? In case you've forgotten, you can't hurt me."

She just walks off after that. The bitch. Maybe I can't hurt herphysically. But I can hurt her other ways. Just so happens, it involves a dash of violence.

Things are looking up.

***

Los Angeles. This place is the absolute pits. Only the Slayer could make me wanna come back here. Looks like I'm gonna be here longer than I want to, though. The old poofs place is nothing but a pile of rubble.

I don't know where he's holed up. I should've asked Dru. Wouldn't surprise me if he's been off shagging Darla, really. I'll find out soon enough. Just like Buffy.

First thing, better find a place to stay. Can't do much damage if I'm dust. After that, the fun starts. I'm not gonna take being spit on. Not by Buffy. Sure as hell not by her.


	3. 

Vindicator – Retribution ****

Vindicator – Retribution

Timeline: Set just after 'Epiphany'.

***

"Look, mate. I sung. Now do your job and tell me where the giant pretty boy is staying."

The Host took a second to lick the remnants of his martini from his lips, before smirking. "Easy sweetie. I'm still thinkin' that it's a nice day for a white wedding. You've really got the Billy Idol vibe working for you."

Spike bit hard into his lip, trying to keep his temper under control. He nearly snapped, though, when a member of the Miquot Clan hopped on stage and began crooning to a random Madonna song.

"I've been pretty patient as it is. Now, come on. Get with the info. I've got family to kill."

"Sorry, bro. But like I already explained to your intended, it's my job to set folks on their paths. And trust me when I say: you'll regret it afterwards."

"Oh, that's rich. First I humiliate myself, now you're not gonna tell me what I want to know?" he asked with an exaggerated scoff.

The Host regarded him coolly. "I won't tell you what you _want_ to know, that's not why I'm here. But I will tell you what you _need _to know."

"Right, go on then," Spike encouraged, his curiosity sparked.

"You need to learn when to let go, honey. When I looked into you, I saw obsession, and I ain't talking fragrances my man. Get out of California, the country even. Cause I don't see any good coming out of you sticking around."

With his trademark, arrogant grin, the vampire took a long drag from his cigarette.

"As it happens, neither do I."

***

"Um, hey, are you…are you even going to look at me?"

"Any particular reason I should?"

Angel scratched at his hand and looked around uncomfortably, trying to find an adequate answer to Cordelia's softly – but angrily – spoken question.

"Cause I'm, you know, back?"

"And beyond wishing you weren't do I, you know, care?"

Angel's face fell, the small flicker of hope that had been plastered across it mere moments before completely vanished. Her reluctance to forgive him stung but didn't surprise him. Disheartened, he wandered across the room and slumped in a chair. Uncomfortable silence followed, with Cordelia shuffling through papers and ignoring him, Angel sitting and staring in her direction. Eventually her renowned temper flared, and she threw down the files she'd been sorting to glare at the vampire.

"You know, despite popular opinion, gawking at someone doesn't improve your chances with them. Or make them want to talk to, or have contact of any kind with you."

Angel fidgeted nervously under the seer's powerful icy stare, before stammering an apology.

"Save it, okay? I _don't_ want to hear it. Go. Away," she commanded, silencing him with a raised eyebrow when he tried to speak again.

He slowly trudged off, accepting his dismissal, slouching to the point that he lost a couple of inches from his height. Brooding.

He made his way to Wesley's office, finding his boss flipping through one of the particularly thick volumes.

"Uh, hey. Is there anything I can help with…?"

Wes glanced up for a moment, then went back to scanning the aged pages. "No, no it's quite all right."

"Oh, okay. Well, if you don't need anything, I'll just get going I guess. If you don't need anything," he repeated, indicating the door.

This time Wesley didn't bother looking up, simply flicked his hand. "By all means," he mumbled.

If possible, the vampire's face fell some more. He walked as slow as he could without being too obvious, waiting to see if one of them would call out for him at the last second. To say goodnight, at the very least.

When his only goodbye was silence, he let out a sigh and left. More than dismayed to hear Cordy and Wes start talking just as he closed the door.

***

"You wouldn't be Merl by any chance, would you?"

The demon responded in his usual nervous manner. "Well, uh, maybe I don't know. Who's asking?"

"Spike. Fella over there told me you were the one to talk to. Smoke?" he offered, holding one out. Merl accepted, shakily bringing in to his lips. Spike reached over and lit it, ready to play nice to get the information he wanted.

"Yeah, okay. Waddaya wanna know?"

"Well, it's pretty simple really. Looking for a guy - vampire actually - about this tall," he indicated with a hand above his head, "wears a lot of black, scowls a fair bit, goes through about a tub of hair gel every day. Name's Angel. Maybe you've heard of him."

Merl's hand started to shake, fumbling the cigarette. "Yeah, maybe I have. So what?"

"I'm after him, is what. Do us a favor, tell me where he is."

"Oh, hey what makes you think I know? Why would a guy like me know?"

Spike let out a long breath to signal his fast fading patience. "Listen," he began, casually placing an arm over Merl's hunched shoulders, "we don't need to make this difficult now, do we?"

Punctuating the question with a powerful squeeze on the scared demons shoulder, he leaned in close to his ear. "Do we?" he asked more aggressively. Clenching down on the already damaged shoulder even harder until he heard the slow beginnings of a loud crack, he dragged the gasping snitch out of the bar, flinging him to the ground.

"So," he went on in an overly friendly tone, "how 'bout it, mate?"

When he didn't get an answer right away, only the moans of a clearly in pain individual, he picked up the nearest pipe and proceeded to dent it over Merl's arm. The bar fly let out an agonized cry, his eyes scrunching up in pain, then opening wide in horror as he saw the bleached blond preparing to strike again.

"Wait! Wait, easy!" he almost yelled, gesturing frantically for him to stop. Spike did so in mid swing, in full vamp face, waiting through angry golden eyes.

"He's at a hotel. That's all I know. The, uh, I think it's the Hyp…Hyp-something. I can't tell you no more, I swear."

"The Hyp-something? _That's the best you can do_?" He spoke the last question in a low rumble, snarling at the end. He pulled back the pipe again, eyes glinting savagely, then struck so hard it sent vibrations up his arms.

"The Hyperion!" Merl squealed out. Spike dropped the pipe, satisfied, but didn't leave before hauling the writhing demon level to his intense stare.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked cheerfully. He pulled the other 'man' close, until they were an inch apart. "You'd do well not to try my patience," he warned, lowering his voice.

With that, he dropped the informant, turned on his heel, and left.


End file.
